


Portioned From the Whole

by Northern__Lights20



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Aftermath of Torture, Alpha Voldemort (Harry Potter), Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Bonding, Book 5: Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix, Dark Harry, Horcruxes, Knotting, M/M, Manipulative Tom Riddle, Ministry of Magic (Harry Potter), Minor Character Death, Murder, Older Man/Younger Man, Omega Harry, Omega Harry Potter, Omega Verse, Pheromones, Scenting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-13
Updated: 2021-02-13
Packaged: 2021-03-12 22:40:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,638
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29392125
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Northern__Lights20/pseuds/Northern__Lights20
Summary: "Harry wasn’t sure how many people the man had killed besides his own parents but he must know what to do. He must know how to hide what he had done. ‘It wasn’t as if I killed her,’ Harry thought to himself frantically. He just needed to hide her body until she recovered-until he could finish what he started-"*I've always wondered what would have happened if Harry had been successful in casting the Cruciatus Curse on Bellatrix during the Battle of the Ministry, especially in an A/B/O universe. So I decided to write it for myself. I'm planning on adding more chapters if enough people are interested in this story but this is just a drabble from my imagination.
Relationships: Harry Potter/Tom Riddle, Harry Potter/Tom Riddle | Voldemort, Harry Potter/Voldemort
Comments: 23
Kudos: 357





	Portioned From the Whole

**Author's Note:**

> The quotes, “You’ve got to mean it Harry. She killed him. She deserves it. You know the spell Harry,” were all taken from the transcript of the movie "Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix." Everything else is completely originally and pulled from my (horrible) imagination.

_“You’ve got to mean it Harry.”_

_“She killed him. She deserves it.”_

_“You know the spell Harry.”_

“Don’t worry child. I’ll show you.”

…

Harry waited patiently as Voldemort approached him, his eyes locked on Bellatrix’s form that lay on the ground a few meters away. At some point during the last round of the Cruciatus Curse, the poor thing had bitten through her tongue, Harry assumed, and a mixture of blood and vomit started to pour out of her mouth. Her wild eyes were now closed and her mouth- _finally that fucking smart mouth_ \- had no more taunts to scream at him. No more words about Sirius. Nothing. A sick pleasure curled in his stomach at the sight of her twisted limbs and fed the burning anger that was coursing through his body. The odd sensation made him wonder if this was what a heat was supposed to feel like.

The soft sounds of Voldemort’s bare feet on the tiles of the Ministry quieted and a hand grazed Harry’s shoulder. _His_ touch still burned-- but this time it was an entirely different searing touch than the Graveyard. It added to the strange sensation in the pit of Harry’s stomach; it made him want to curse the witch _-disgusting bitch_ -that lay at his feet again. Voldemort’s hand moved down his back, almost in a soothing gesture, before Harry realized that he was panting as if he had just finished a three hour long Quidditch practice. Although his anger still burned as much as it did when Sirius fell, Harry could feel his magical reserves start to drain from the prolonged session using the Cruciatus Curse. It reminded him of a similar feeling he would get after a good Duel with one of the Seventh Years _-but this sensation was so much more satisfying._

He tore his eyes away from Bellatrix and glanced over at Voldemort. Sickly pale skin glowed with a radiant power, red eyes focused on the body in front of them. The previous year, Harry had thought his serpent like features seemed odd on the face of the man who was once Tom Riddle. Now, he thought, those features suited him much better than the handsome facade of his younger self. This face did not hide the monster within. This face did not lie.

His hairless brows were pushed together, as if he was deep in thought, which Harry thought seemed quite odd on his face. Black robes were fitted around his lean frame, unsullied from battle, a stark contrast from Harry’s torn shirt and baggy jeans, covered in soot and dirt.

It was somehow grounding to have this monster _-man-_ so close to him and a small part of his mind wanted to take a step closer towards Voldemort’s calm darkness. Harry could start to feel the cracks begin to form; the achy, empty feeling in his chest overtaking his thoughts again. A coldness started to overtake his limbs and his thoughts began crashing together, all centered around his godfather. Harry’s fingers shook so badly that his holly wand slipped from his fingers and landed at his feet. He took in a gasping breath but it felt as if no air was coming into his lungs at all. With a sick realization, he knew that there would be no freedom from the Dursley’s this summer. There would be no home with Sirius at the end of year. Harry began to realize the severity of what he had done.

Everyone would soon enter the atrium of the Ministry and see what he had done to Bellatrix _-even though she fucking deserved it and more-_ There was no way to lie his way out of it; they would use that spell that Amos had used at the World Cup and they would know what he had done. They would see her body mangled at his feet and they would know. Harry shook harder as he realized that he had earned himself a life sentence in Azkaban. His wand would be snapped. His soul would be ravaged by dementors.

“You-You have to get rid of her body,” Harry choked out, panic crawling up this throat. Voldemort turned towards him, as if he was just now acknowledging Harry’s presence. “I have to do nothing you insufferable boy,” Voldemort hissed, his red eyes piercing Harry’s. “I owe you nothing. I’ve committed no crime here,” he scoffed, his thin lips pulling into a wicked smile. “In fact,” he continued, “I would pay to witness the Wizarding World lock up the boy they once worshipped and let the dementors feast on your pathetic soul. How many times did you _Cruico_ her child?” Voldemort’s head tilted in a mocking gesture, as if he was waiting for Harry to answer.

Harry grew cold at the Dark Lord’s words, tears filling his eyes. He had seen how broken Sirius was after thirteen years in Azkaban. There was no way Harry could last a lifetime there, much less thirteen years. Memories of his past encounters with Dementors flashed in front of his eyes.

“Please,” he begged Voldemort, shaking like a leaf. “I can’t go to Azkaban, please help me. I’d rather die than go there. Please, please, please. I’ll do anything. Please don’t let them take me there. I won’t survive it.”

The pale hand that was previously stroking his back shot to the back of Harry’s head and gripped a fistful of hair and tugged the younger boy closer to the Dark Lord. Harry whimpered pathetically, assaulted by the thick aroma of the Alpha’s pheromones. Voldemort scrutinized him for a few moments while Harry continued to beg for his help. Harry wasn’t sure how many people the man had killed besides his own parents but he must know what to do. He must know how to hide what he had done. ‘It wasn’t as if I killed her,’ Harry thought to himself frantically. He just needed to hide her body until she recovered _-until he could finish what he started-_

“Why should I help you?” Voldemort questioned him, leaning into Harry’s face, allowing his pheromones to cloud the omega’s senses. Voldemort had always thought Omega’s were weak things, a few Alpha pheromones being enough to cloud their judgement and turn them into a malleable toy to manipulate into doing his bidding. Harry’s eyes fluttered and he choked out a gasp when the hand tugged at his hair harshly, trying to regain his attention.

“Because,” Harry whimpered, frantically trying to search his mind for anything that would be meaningful to Voldemort, anything that would please him. A few quiet moments passed before Voldemort growled out his frustration, yanking Harry closer. “I can tell you what was in that prophecy, the one you were after tonight,” Harry blurted out. Seconds passed and before Harry could help it everything started to pour out of his mouth. “I can tell you about the Order and their plans. About their headquarters. About every member of the Order that I’ve met. Anything,” Harry pleaded, “I can tell you anything, everything you want to know. Please help me.”

Voldemort was silent for a few moments before he spoke again. “We can make a deal-- a Wizarding’s Oath at a later date for that information and the terms of your service to me. And I’ll help you get rid of the body now child, as a symbol of my good nature. However, you must be the one to cast the curse,” Voldemort hissed, switching from English to Parseltongue. Harry, unaware of the switch in language, nodded his consent. A confused look graced Harry’s face before another wave of intoxicatingly, calming pheromones clouded his senses again.

“What curse,” Harry mumbled, leaning in towards Voldemort, drunk off his dark aura and the pure _Alphaness_ that the man radianted. A sick grin plastered itself on Voldemort’s face and he tugged the boy closer, scenting him at the base of his neck, near his Mating Glands. Harry sagged in his arms at the sensation, barely registering the whispered words in his ear. Voldemort chuckled darkly before turning the boy around to face the dying witch that laid before them. With a quick flick of his wrist, the boy’s discarded wand flew into his hand. He gave the wand to the boy, running his nose slits down the omega’s throat again.

Harry obediently lifted his wand, pointing it at Bellatrix. His legs felt like jelly and his head was spinning but instead of feeling nauseated, everything felt right. Voldemort was going to help him--no one would know of what happened in the Ministry atrium tonight. Harry would say that he tried to follow her but she made it to the Floo before he could reach her. Harry had practice lying to the Dursleys multiple times. He could lie to Ron and Hermione. They were his best friends; they would believe him and his story. He’d have to practice his story a few times before he told Dumbledore but if the majority of his peers backed up his version, the man wouldn’t be able to question him much. It would be fine. Everything would be okay. ‘Voldemort would be pleased and he would be okay,’ Harry thought.

Voldemort’s hands tightened on his waist, nails cutting into his sides, jerking Harry from his thoughts. Harry shifted back on his heels and felt the cold press of Voldemort’s chest against his back. The constant wave of pheromones calmed Harry’s nerves and he took a deep breath in. _“You’ve got to mean it Harry. She killed him. She deserves it. You know the spell Harry,”_ Voldemort whispered into Harry’s ear. A sickly green light lit up the atrium, along with the horror filled faces of the Order and the small group of students that had accompanied Harry on his mission tonight.

**Author's Note:**

> This story is one of the first I've written so any constructive criticism is very appreciated! Thank you for reading this and let me know if you have any ideas for how the story should go!


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